


Hunters' Chorus

by BeardedFrog



Category: Hellsing
Genre: F/M, bickering master and servant, relationship exploration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-25
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-17 01:13:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/545885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeardedFrog/pseuds/BeardedFrog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What ever occurred between the Monster and the Huntress after the attack on the Adler? Manga-verse; takes place during Alucard's voyage to London.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Orcinus

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to explore what could happen between these two, given that Hirano had... slightly more organized sense of plot, because a) these two do make a peculiar if not cute pairing (if they ever get along), b) there is virtually no decent fanfiction out there for these two. And lastly, my strongest reason is the whole idea of Alucard brainwashing Rip when she became his familiar was hypocritical, considering Alucard believed in free will like a creed. Why not give her the choice to chose sides?
> 
> Critiques, suggestions and comments are all warmly welcomed.

**ACT I: Orcinus**

CHORUS: Why do you cry out thus, unless at some vision of horror?  
CASSANDRA: The house reeks of death and dripping blood.  
CHORUS: How so? 'Tis but the odor of the alter sacrifice.  
CASSANDRA: The stench is like a breath from the tomb.

\- Aeschylus, _Agamemnon_

* * *

An unfamiliar darkness. An uncomfortable silence.

Was this… it? Is this how it is when you _finally_ die? Is this the afterlife? No, it couldn't. She felt clearly conscious; she was aware and still had the ability to think and reason.

But… Where was her body? She flexed, moved her arms and hands in front of her, but they were not there. Just darkness. Looking down, she attempted to move her legs, kicking vigorously – again, darkness. Odd, she can still feel the sensation of limbs, but couldn't see them…

If this wasn't the afterlife, then where was she? This void was anything but peaceful; in fact, it was beginning to make her feel claustrophobic. She reached and clawed around her, desperately hoping to grasp something tangible, anything that served as an anchor, a connector, back to the physical world –

 _There._ She felt… cloth? snagged in her hand. Or at least it felt like cloth... How could she describe this? It felt like smooth, weightless velvet.

The 'cloth' suddenly wriggled; tendrils formed and began to snake up her hand, along her arm. She shouted in alarm, jerking her hand back in an instant. Well, at least that gave her an answer: she was currently in a 'living' void, of sorts. How could this nothingness be… alive?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a noise. It was distant, muffled, but she heard it: whispers, murmurs, quiet voices echoed from all around. Some spoke in English, others in foreign tongues. Further off, there was screaming, masculine in tone. It was too far away to pick up; she could only hear fragments.

"… n… get them awa… not the hounds!… Jesus… nythin… Godda…"

She took a sharp intake of breath. Hounds? What on earth… _where_ on earth _was_ she? Anxiety began to gnaw within her. How _did_ she end up here? She couldn't recall anything that could have lead her to this situation.

She can remember being in the helicopter, being transported to the aircraft carrier… and she clearly remembered hijacking the Adler and dispatching the naïve fledglings. With her thirty or so vampiric men, they prepared for the Last Battalion through early morning hours; she waited eagerly to launch her planned attack at midnight, even through the searing heat of day, bubbly and giddy with the thoughts of glorious warfare and victory…

A massive explosion; dozens died at the moment of impact, their bodies sprawled over the deck.  The giant jet stood on its smashed nose, wrapped in a towering inferno, giving the malevolent appearance of a giant burning cross. Then out came the looming figure, out from the blazing fortress of melting, warped iron. The gleaming crimson eyes, a pleased yet psychotic grin, the rows and rows of teeth, ever sharp and ever deadly, the hundreds of sprouting, grappling clawed hands, ever searching, the ten thousand little eyes leering from the writhing tendrils, never blinking –

Scenes of her own death flickered in her mind's eye. She felt violently sick. A jolt of sharp, searing pain. Her hands instinctively shot towards the source, trying to massage the pained area – it came from the left side of her torso, near her sternum. That's where _he_ impaled her with her own musket. Fighting a wave of nausea, she held her hands there for a moment; she felt dampness. A unique coppery scent assaulted her nose: blood. She was bleeding.

But she was... dead. Truly dead. Nothing added up: she shouldn't feel pain; she shouldn't be able to move around; she shouldn't have coherent thoughts; she shouldn't even be conscious. The murmurs and whispers became noticeably louder. She was hit with another wave of nausea, stronger than the last.

* * *

The motionless VTOL aircraft carrier let out soft metallic groans as the waves lapped against the ship's sides, swaying slightly occasionally. The full moon rose higher in the clear, indigo night sky, revealing the horrid aftermath of carnage, which occurred less than an hour earlier.

The carrier no longer appeared to be a ship: instead, it was a casket of smashed iron, a floating wasteland. Every bit of metal, from the smallest sheet, to the colossal SR-17 Blackbird, still standing where it crashed, nose-first onto the ship, was scorched, twisted, and broken.

Most of the fires from the jet crash were snuffed by a strong oceanic gust that had blown by earlier. A few still smoldered and bellowed columns of smoke. Soldiers' torn bodies and limbs still littered parts of the ship deck and control tower. On every soldier's face, mangled or not, was a mask of shock and horror, their eyes wide and jaws agape in a frozen scream. The Adler carried no more than bodies and remnants of a massacre. Save for the tall, red-clad figure standing on the flight deck.

Alucard quietly observed the sea from where he stood, dressed in his usual crimson Victorian duster, paled by the moonlight that bathed him from behind. It was his first time, in almost a century, since he last saw the sea. Granted, he should be filled with absolute revulsion, considering he was in the middle of the English Channel. Yet, he felt calm and collected; the rhythm of the tide soothed him to an extent.

However, the sightseeing tour was not on the schedule. He completed his mission in eliminating all the targets and putting the Adler out of commission, but it wasn't until the last minute he realized that he landed into a trap. Ironically, there were no planes or helicopters on board in pristine and working condition. With no aircraft available, and with everyone most likely pulling all their efforts on the front line in fighting against the Major's forces, he was stranded.

He was miles and miles away from London, where he should be – at Sir Integra's side. Although he knew his Master could – no, _can_ – easily take care of herself when it came to tough situations, he was slightly worried. He and Walter had faced these bastards before, but they've returned more cunning than ever. Clearly the Major and his crew learned from their mistakes when they were defeated in Warsaw, and completed their projects using the newfound knowledge.

And they had brought along an army of artificially created vampires, a thousand strong, while they were at it. Now this should be an interesting little war – one he was all too eager to participate in.

Something glinted. There, a few yards away, by the one compartment wall, where it was stained by a rather large splatter of dried blood. Alucard lifted a hand slightly, fingers twitching – a beckoning gesture. The object levitated and flew quickly into his palm. With intrigued eyes, he unfolded and scrutinized: it was a pair of glasses.

Ah, they were Rip van Winkle's glasses, the sharpshooter. She was an interesting vampire: predatory and fiercely loyal, with a sharp eye and skillful with firearms to boot. Yet, she had a more sensitive side, with a child-like naivety. However, as he clearly took note during his attack, Winkle was absolutely terrified of him, letting her fear run rampant and get the best of her. If she was going to be an efficient and cooperative familiar, without having to force him to erase all of her memories, he was going to have to gain her trust, one way or another. He truly did not want to brainwash her; after all, he believed in free will like a creed.

Earning her trust would take some time. Unfortunately, time was something Alucard did not have. The Major's forces have probably invaded London by now, and he needed to return to Integra as soon as possible before the city was completely overtaken.

"It's about time I become acquainted with my newly acquired huntress…"

* * *

"Come."

_Who was that?_

The hushed cacophony of mutters fell silent. She was still nauseous, but was more of a lingering feeling, rather than the fierce wave she felt earlier. She scanned; ahead was an open doorway, filled with bright light.

" _Come_ , sharpshooter," the voice beckoned.

That voice… it was coming from there, wasn't it? It was deep, but soothing, somewhat… comforting. Although she was a creature of the night, the light was an unexpected source of comfort and relief from this pit-less, hopeless void. But what lies on the other side? Would this beacon of light be the gateway to heaven… or the gateway to something worse?

"Why do you hesitate? Shed your last vestiges of doubt, and walk forward. Or, _do_ you wish to stay here?"

The omniscient voice had a point. Staying here only made her feel suffocated, trapped, and she didn't have any intention of staying in a cell that literally tried to ensnare her for a moment longer.

She started to walk. As she approached the light, she glanced down and saw her legs and feet, her arms and hands –

"Yes, come…"

The voice swam in her mind, so enticing. She was at the door. She went forward and reached out for the light –

* * *

Alucard's head was slightly tilted back, eyes closed in concentration. A shadow grew from where he stood, extending before him on the flight deck. Inky tendrils writhed and whipped, and within the shadow, thousands of small, scarlet eyes opened, staring up at him.

With a mental command, he summoned a familiar. In response, activity erupted from the center: the shadowy mass gathered, grew and boiled, tendrils sprouting and waving. The sea of eyes shifted their attention to the center.

The form began to take shape – tall, slim, and lanky. As the mass began to slowly seep away, it exposed its summoned captive. Her figure was slender, clad in her usual black uniform. If it weren't for the slight swell in the hips and curve of the breast, she would have looked decidedly male. She had a freckled, youthful face, long arms and legs, and equally long hair, a cascade of raven locks – accented with a few stray hairs and a stretched curlicue in the front.

The last shadows fell from her form, and retreated back to their owner at frightening speed. Alucard gave a quiet, lazy sigh, and looked at the sharpshooter, seeing her for the first time in an hour.

Rip opened her cobalt blue eyes. She shifted, looking around at her surroundings. Her mind kept stalling in confusion. Why was she on the Adler? Was she… No. She was undead to begin with.

Is this wreckage even the Adler anyway? Everything was smashed, burnt and twisted. Was this another trial, of sorts? Like the void she was stuck in earlier? She couldn't see very well, her glasses were missing. Ugh, this is ridiculous, why was she missing her glasses at this ti–

There were bodies. Everywhere. One was lying not too far from her right.

She froze. She felt the familiar sensation of being immersed in fear. On the end of the flight deck, barely ten feet away from her stood devil himself. Even though her eyesight was reduced to a blur, she could see his tall figure, immersed in the moonlight: those gleaming, crimson orbs for eyes, his inky black hair. There was a white flicker – he was grinning. Baring all those rows and rows of jagged teeth.

"Oh Gott," Rip whispered in horror, inwardly, as her panic went full tilt. Her body flushed with adrenaline and was preparing to flee from this monster. But during the swing of movement, a familiar and intense pain pierced through her torso; it was enough to cry out, make her knees buckle and she promptly fell in a heap.

Pushing herself up, she began to cough and choke. Once seated, she clutched her sternum, franticly trying to ease the pain. She felt wetness; she pulled her gloved hands back. They were splashed in red. She quickly berated herself for forgetting that she was still wounded.

She heard heavy footsteps, approaching her.

"Hn, another familiar that stubbornly refuses to heal while in my keep… I believe I am beginning to see an intriguing pattern with your Millennium ilk."

As she looked up at him, her face a mask of dread, she tried to hurriedly crawl away from him, awkward and slightly crab-like. "Vat do you vant vit me?" She half-shrieked, half gurgled. "You haff alveady had your fill – unless you kept me for seconds?"

No answer. He continued his approach.

"You haff zlaughtered my crew vitout mercy, sate yourself on zheir blood und now haff zhis ship under your command! Vat else do you vant –"

She doubled over, her body shaking, coughing up blood. She looked down; blood was seeping from her wound in large, oozing rivers. She began to feel stabbing pain not only coming from her chest, but through her back as well. Bending over in pain, she tried to scoot back again, but couldn't: her system was faltering, weakening due to blood loss.

Rip heard a rustle of cloth, snapped her head up: Alucard was suddenly upon her, kneeling in front of her. If her heart was still functioning, it would have been beating a mile a minute.

"I would highly suggest that you stop struggling, or else you will go into shock." Alucard glanced at the bloody streaks she had left behind.

"Vhy do you even care?" Rip snapped, confused and irate. "You have von your game – you caught your prey und done vat you vished vith your prize. Vhy _should_ I stop strugglingk? I am already dead – "

"Technically," he interrupted, calmly, "you are not dead."

She paused. She looked into his blazing eyes: they were not filled with anger, malice, or bloodlust, like they did earlier. An unreadable glimmer…

"But, you – "

"Yes, I _did_ kill you. However, before your life slipped away, I consumed your being, collected your soul and made you my own."

She listened, focusing on his mouth – she was wary about those fangs.

"So, vat haff I become?" Rip asked, slowly.

"You are now a familiar, a soul that responds to my beck and call."

She was anything but fond of the concept of being someone's soul-bounded servant. She lashed out, trying to clout him.

Alucard effortlessly caught her by the wrist. Rip didn't attempt to struggle. He turned her gloved hand, palm up, noticing the bloodstain.

"You are alive, in a sense." he explained, "However, you no longer have your original body. Your form is composed from my own essence, and yet, you are separate from me. Your abilities are severely hampered." He eyed the gaping hole on her torso. "As you can see, your ability to recover from physical damage has been reduced dramatically. So unless you plan on dying slowly, in a pool of your own life's blood, I suggest saving your breath, and allow me to tend to your wounds."

Letting her hand go (in which she snapped it back in an instant), Alucard leaned in a little closer. "However, it is your choice whether to accept my offer, or not." He intoned, his voice deep and silken.

Rip gulped, looked away momentarily, filled with fear and uncertainty. How could she trust him – the devil, of all beings? This could be a carefully baited trap, purposefully luring her for another round of torture. Yet, he spoke with such sincerity... Then again, what did she have to lose? She failed her mission; even if she returned (by some miraculous stroke of luck), it would have brought nothing but shame and disappointment to the Major. Would they even accept her back into the organization after such a fiasco? She doubted it.

Gathering any courage she had left, she returned to his gaze. "I… akcept your offer… _for naow._ " She replied, eyes narrowing at the last two words.

Alucard stood, with a pleased yet slightly maniac smile. Rip shakily pushed herself off the deck floor, slowly getting up. The elder vampire offered her a hand. Rip swatted it away – she didn't need assistance from that damned monster. She almost stood full height before she wobbled and began to cough again. More blood issued from her lungs. She soon took back her initial refusal of taking his hand, as she became trapped in her coughing fit, so violent that her body began to quake, and stumbled backwards. She was about to brace herself from the fall when she felt herself get caught –

"You shouldn't push yourself," Alucard remarked. Rip suddenly realized where his arm was (curled around her back, her waist) and how close he was.

She glared at him. "Let – "

In one fluid movement, Alucard swept her up and was walking towards the stairs, leading to the lower ship floors. She squirmed in his arms for a few moments before her strength waned away. Mentally, she sighed _,_ accepting defeat.

A low chuckle rung in her mind. _~ A wise choice, sharpshooter. ~_

They descended down the steps.

 _~ Where is the location of the hospital ward?_ ~ Alucard asked. She illustrated all the ship floors and following the shortest route, as well as the layout of the room, telepathically.

_~ First, you need to turn – ~_

Alucard didn't need directions; he had already vaporized and reappeared in the hospital ward before Rip even finished her sentence.

_~ - left… oh. ~_

That was quick.

He walked over to the metal examining table, located in the middle of the room, gently setting her down. She sat, letting her legs dangle over the edge. Alucard willed the medicinal cabinets to unlock and searched for gauze and bandages, while Rip kicked off her shoes and peeled off her gloves, slowly. She was annoyed with the clammy feeling of blood-soaked cloth. She heard a sink faucet behind her turn on, run water for a moment, and shut off.

_~ Wait for me to assist you. ~_

_~ Assist in vat? ~_

_~ In removing your clothes. ~_

Rip felt her stomach drop. Alucard returned to the table, setting down a bowl, a few rolls of bandages and dressings on the table's cold metal surface.

_~ Now, sit up. ~_

Rip hesitantly obeyed, sitting up straighter to the best of her injured body's ability. She watched as he untied her tie, and unbuttoned her bloodstained military jacket and her pastel pink, long-sleeved shirt. She moved or lifted her arms when necessary.

The moment he finished sliding her shirt off, Rip's nervousness returned. She tucked and crossed her legs, and quickly covered herself, refusing to let him see her bra-covered chest. It was a mixed reaction of not wanting to expose herself to the enemy, and other being self-conscious. She knew downright well that her build was not as shapely as other women – human or not – and didn't need the devil himself to sneer at her about it.

A moment passed. Rip stole a glance; Alucard just quietly watched her. He looked for the bandage roll with the widest width and started fumbling with it, searching for the end of it. Even with a casual, human gesture like this, Rip felt so small, so insignificant, all huddled up in a ball, compared to his towering figure.

Her wound throbbed unbearably. More blood seeped. After a few more moments of silence, she figured if he didn't say anything earlier, he probably wouldn't now. Slowly, she uncrossed her arms. Alucard leaned closer; his lengthy arms reached around and unclasped her bra, now nearly drenched in crimson. He slid it off her shoulders and set it neatly aside, along with the other articles of bloodied clothing.

Rip rubbed her shivering arms, feeling chilled by the air and apprehensive as to what would come next.

Alucard knelt to near eye level with her. She noticed he wasn't holding any antiseptics.

"Vhy don't you haff any medicine?"

"Disinfectants and antiseptics work perfectly fine on humans, made to heal their living flesh. However, on creatures like us, the medicines backfire. Their synthetic chemistry does not mix with our undead cells and tissues. They only exacerbate the injured site, and in some cases, might cause the wounds to rot."

Rip grimaced at the thoughts of her current wound becoming black with rotting tissue. "Vat vill make it heal, zhen?"

"Enzymes."

"Und vhere vill ve get zhat?"

Alucard licked his lips. She saw his tongue dart for a split second.

_~ N-No. ~_

"It's the only way," he said, giving her a twisted grin. "My saliva acts like an antiseptic _and_ helps encourage tissue growth and regeneration." He sounded so smug.

Well, if it's the only way…

She placed her hands on the table, slightly behind her to prop herself up a bit, granting Alucard permission. He looked at the upper half of her body, with a sinister (and slightly wanton?) glaze over his burning eyes.

"Stop," she barked, before Alucard could edge closer to her, slightly catching him off guard. "I do not vant you to touch me," she ordered, "I vant both hands on eitzher side of me."

For that moment, her unwavering sense of authority and command, as well as her determination, shone through. It greatly reminded him of Integra.

He complied, lazily resting his hands on either side of her, caging her. He bowed his head, examining her wound. Rip looked past his head, trying to distract herself by focusing on the half-parted cabinet door.

She felt his hot breath tickling her breasts, making her shudder. Rip cursed herself for reacting – she knew he was intentionally teasing her to get a response out of her. She took a quick glance, and saw Alucard's mouth open, jaws equipped with many pearly white daggers –

Rip grabbed and dug her fingers into his shoulders as his warm tongue delve into her gaping wound. Indeed, it hurt _immensely_ when he brushed past tender, injured tissue and muscle, but it was the bizarre sensation of having someone's tongue dive into your chest cavity was most unsettling to her.

Alucard continued to probe. She dug her nails further into his duster, and bit her own tongue, refusing to cry out, refusing to show any signs of weakness. His snaking muscle stopped its onslaught, and stilled; he needed to give it some time for the enzymes to do their work. For Rip, time seemed to drag its feet. Every once in a while, his extended tongue would twitch (and she swore, with disgust, that she felt the tip of his tongue poke out from the other end of the wound, _through her back_ ).

Tired of staring at the cabinet, Rip looked down at Alucard's rakish, ebony hair. It looked… soft, and very tempting to touch. She relaxed her grip on his shoulders. As if he picked up on her thoughts, a strand of hair, no, a tendril, whipped out, and stroked her face, almost lovingly. She jerked her face away, momentarily horror-struck. There was movement within her, and Alucard's tongue began to retreat –

He suddenly paused.

"Vhy did you stop?"

_~ I felt something… non-organic. ~_

The muscle slightly scraped. She gritted her teeth.

_~ Ahhh… ~_

He slowly withdrew his tongue. Going against her command, he willed his right hand to become shadow, and sending it into the wound.

Rip let out a small whimper. "Vat is it?"

_~ I found a rather interesting object by your heart. ~_

_~ By my vat? ~_

She yelped in pain, feeling a snag within the left side of her chest, right where her stilled heart would be located. With extreme care, Alucard dislodged the object.

Once his shadowy hand was out, Rip immediately curled into a ball, clutching her aching chest. After recovering for a moment or two, she leaned forward, wanting to see what was in his outstretched palm. It was a chip, etched with circuit grid-like patterns.

"Do you know what this is?" Alucard inquired.

She had to squint her eyes a bit, due to her farsightedness. "It… it looks like one of zhe Freak chips zat Dok put into me."

"Master has shown one of these to me. It combusts and engulfs the host in flames."

Rip didn't reply, somewhat lost in her thoughts. Alucard dropped the chip and stomped on it with the heel of his boot, metal and plastic crunching against steel. Snapping back to reality, Rip looked at the floor, then back up at him.

"You are free now."

Rip was about to argue, since she was bound to him as a familiar, but then stopped. What he said was true: symbolically, she was free from Millennium. Knowing she no longer belonged to the organization, that she was loyally a part of for fifty years, felt very odd.

She wanted to move, at least off this cold examining table. But before she could slide off, Alucard held out a hand and stopped her.

"You cannot move around. I need to bandage your wounds while you allow your own body to mend itself. However, that will take some time, due to your weakened abilities."

"Zhen vhy did you stick your tongue into me…?"

"To give your system a jump start."

"Somehow, I don't zhink I can completely believe zhat."

She heard him chuckle heartily within her thoughts. _~ It's half-true, then. ~_ He gathered her thick, glossy raven hair, slinging it over her right shoulder.

Reaching around her, Alucard picked up a small bowl of warm water he had filled earlier. From within, he produced a damp washcloth, and gingerly wiped the caked blood off her mouth and chin, and cleaned her impalement wounds. Next, he opened a few packets of gauze, dressed the wounds, and then unrolled the bandages. With careful and deft fingers, and applying firm yet gentle pressure, he bounded the injuries so it covered the wounds on her chest and back. When finished, he cut off the last strip with his large eyeteeth, and making a simple knot.

Rip examined her torso, to see the results. Although she couldn't see very well, it appeared satisfactory. She still felt incredibly sore, but the pain was significantly alleviated.

_~ Look up. ~_

She did, and was startled to find his huge hands by her face. Rip's fears were eased when she felt the cool metal of her glasses' thin frames slide onto the bridge of her nose and ears. Her vision was now crystal clear; she studied Alucard, noticing his aquiline nose, intense eyes and sharp facial features.

As much as she wanted to deny it, he was quite a dapper and darkly handsome creature…

Rip felt awash in dizziness, and felt her body begin to sway. Familiar arms steadied her, scooped her up, and carried her as he walked off into an adjacent room.

_~ Vhere are you taking me? ~_

_~ You are in dire need of rest. There is ward full of beds in the next room. ~_

She made a small noise in agreement.

Approaching the nearest bed, Alucard tugged off the sheets halfway before depositing Rip onto the mattress, carefully. She sat there for a moment, arms covering herself again. She was a bit dazed and weary, still trying to digest what on earth was going on.

Then again, he couldn't blame her, considering all the damage and trauma he inflicted on her almost an hour ago. He felt a tinge of guilt. Just a tinge.

He noticed that she was forcing herself to stay awake, rebelling against her body's begging need for rest.

"You need to sleep," Alucard said.

"I can't sleep vith you ga– "

He suddenly loomed over her, his hands either side of her, caging her again, his eyes scorching her's, a swirl of brilliant brimstone, orange, vermilion –

" _ **Sleep.**_ " he rumbled, his voice silken once more, inviting.

It didn't take much effort. Rip was out like a light; he had to catch and cradle her falling head, preventing her from hitting the wooden head-post of the bed. Once he positioned her head to rest on the pillow, he pulled the covers up to her collar. As he stood, Alucard heard the soft metallic groans of the ship, rocked by the waves.

But heard something else… A chorus of moans. He focused: on the floor below, and within the expansive boiler room, an entire crew of ghouls shuffled about aimlessly, with no master to rein them in. They must have been the original workers on this ship before the Millennium moles attacked.

Exiting the ward, his guns materialized in his hands. Alucard wasn't exactly looking forward to dispatching the animated corpses. Then again, he didn't want to add more fuel to the fire by accidentally letting more ghouls setting foot in England. He predicted there were hundreds, if not thousands, now wandering the streets of downtown London.

Ah well, what could he do? After all, he was _just_ a servant.

* * *

 

**TBC**


	2. A Faustian Offer

**ACT II: A Faustian Offer  
**

"[Death] is merely a rite of passage… To bring about rebirth in those who are imprisoned. _"_

\- SEELE Member No. 12, _End of Evangelion_

* * *

_The huntress dreamt, something she hasn't done in almost a decade.  
_

_She was standing in her homeland, wandering through covered in carpets of emerald, known as the Bohemian Forests, located in southeastern Germany. It was filled with towering evergreen pines, conifers, cedars, and firs. The snow-capped Alpine mountains cradled the forests, serving as the backbone of the Germanic countries. The nostalgia was incredible._

_Rip was born and raised in the small pockets of farmland that were hugged by the forests. She had her mother's long black hair (always tied back in a thick braid) but her father gave her his freckles and tall, slender build. Both parents weren't sure whose side of the family bestowed her with those brilliant blue eyes - and were just as perplexed about the origin of her myopia._

_She had two siblings – a brother, older by three years, and a sister, four years her junior. Her brother, who also had her father's build and face, helped as the blacksmith's assistant in town. Her sister, very much her mother's image, liked to help raise produce in the garden and cook._

_Her hometown was small and somewhat secluded. The community was a tight-knit one, where everyone knew everybody, and watched out for one another. Most of the townsfolk were farmers, owning chips of land. The Winkles were well known and liked, providing most of the fresh vegetables that stocked the town bazaar's produce stands._

_She was well liked in the town. Granted, she had her quirks, but the citizens always tended to overlook it; instead, they marveled her obedience, how diligently she worked, and her upbeat personality._ _Rip gave aid to her parents when they brought their harvest to the weekly farmer's market during summer and the autumn harvest season, plucking and cleaning the fruits of their labor, and enthusiastically assisted other shop owners whenever necessary._

_While her brother was gifted in metalworks, her's were in musical field_ _. With a crisp soprano voice, she sung heavenly, enough to make the angels above turn green with envy. Certainly not one to flaunt her gift (ever shy about sharing her vocal talents to strangers), she did perform at certain town festivals, which gave thanks for their bountiful harvest.  
_

_The fortress-like forest was Rip's favorite place to spend her free time at. Whether it was just to enjoy its serene stillness, or as a sanctuary to escape a stressful day, she loved being within its organic confines. She had her own little personal spot, located deep within the realm of trees: a small, grassy clearing, skirted by lush ferns, and dotted with wildflowers. The woodlands were extraordinarily dense, almost lasting forever: _their dark, impenetrable depths, blockaded by the massive girths of trees._ Vegetation of all different shades of green grew voraciously and spilled over one another, fighting to get their share of the sun. _

_To Rip, it that only heightened the land's beautiful mystery and aura.  
_

_Her years living as a human came to an end when she was "embraced," not too long after she turned eighteen years old._

* * *

The air became more frigid, and the winds began to pick up, making the waves churn. The ship gave a rusty squeak, swinging more than necessary in the choppy sea.

Having just exterminated the last of the ghouls down in the boiler room, Alucard reappeared onto the flight deck in seconds, his guns disappearing from his hands in a wisp of smoky shadow. He had no more time to waste: it was crucial that he get this carrier ship moving. He walked to the nose of the deck, stopping at the edge. He inhaled deeply, summoning all the reserves of power he had within.

For a few moments, there was a pregnant pause, save the soft rustling of the waves against the ship. As if the whole world was holding its breath.

The ship let out a long and deafening moan, hundreds of tons of steel being pulled against its will. The carrier jerked forward, then gained momentum, and the groan dissipated. Soon, the ship cruised at a reasonable speed, water splashing at its heels.

* * *

The metallic screeching and sudden rattling of the bed jolted Rip awake. Giving a moment for her vision to adjust, she sat up. She held her glasses away from her face while palming her eyes, rubbing out sleep. Sliding her glasses back on, she realized she was in the medical ward. Why was she…

Memory flickered, recounting the events. She looked down at her bandaged torso: while it was biologically unnecessary for her to breathe, she wanted to test her lungs, checking to see if her wound was healing up. Rip breathed in, then ou—she winced and bent over in pain, coughing. The wound felt drastically better than it did previously when he was patching her up, but it still hurt.

She heard sloshing and focused in on the noise; the waves were crashing and being dragged along the sides of the ship. The aircraft carrier was moving. But how? It was put out of commission when Alucard attacked...

Gradually, Rip turned her body to the side of the bed, pushing herself with her hands, fearful she would either accidentally tug her wound enough to reopen. Once she accomplished getting herself onto the edge of the bed, she was given a pleasant surprise when she looked at the bed across from her's. Her tie, bra, gloves, military jacket and her long-sleeved oxford were neatly folded in a small stack, set upon the sheets; her shoes were on the floor, beside the bed.

Every article of clothing present was spotless, as if blood never even soiled them in the first place. Suspicious, she stood, slowly, and padded over to the other bed. Picking up her pastel-pink Oxford, she gently crushed it against her nose, inhaling deeply. No scent of blood. Not even a faint residue. There were no washing or drying rooms on the ship. How on earth could he have gotten her clothes so clean?

Slowly and gingerly, Rip dressed herself. She was in the middle of toeing her shoes on when the boat rocked. Almost knocking her off balance, she had seconds to seize the end bedpost. Once everything was brought to a calm, she made her way out of the ward at a relaxed pace.

Traveling through a myriad of halls, she reached the stairwell leading up to the flight deck. Once she was on the top step, she cautiously ventured out onto the deck; the devil was nowhere to be seen. She walked up to and stood by guardrail on the left side, gripping it as she felt the breeze and sea spray grace her face and hair, listening to the ocean rush past her as she gazed at the star-strewn night sky.

"Good to see you're able stand and walk on your own," came a drawl. Rip whirled around, grasping the rail behind her; Alucard was perched high on top of the ship's control bridge, leaning against one of the twisted buttresses of the small satellite tower.

"Vat do you want?" She snapped.

"Nothing. At least not yet." Languidly, he leaped down. "How is your wound?"

"Zhat is none of _your_ concern," Rip started as he approached her.

"It _is_ my concern." He unbuttoned her jacket, opening it halfway, then moved onto her pastel-pink shirt. Rip became instantly tense as he delicately slid his fingers into the top of the bandages, using his middle and index finger to pry the bandages from the skin. He craned over her left shoulder a bit to get a better look. Her hands gripped the guardrail behind her, teeth clenched, ready to attempt a futile defense.

"You were out for the past two hours. Give it one more and you will have nothing but a scar." He announced, rebuttoning her jacket. Was it really three hours since the Operation Letze Battalion started? From the look of the stars, it appeared the ship was on the right coordinated path. Speaking of which...

"How did you get zhe Adler to move? Consideringk you smashed zhe control box? Unless somehow you manage to bevitch a ghoul to steer it..." she sneered.

"I willed it to move."

Her eyes narrowed. Who was he kidding? Her fear of him might have impaired her judgement, but she wasn't an imbecile.

"Just like how I am willing the reconstruction of the Demeter."

Rip leaned to her left, hands still sealed to the guardrail as she looked over Alucard's shoulder. Panels from the control tower and bridge were peeled and torn, then levitated over to the jet. They were wedged, jammed and plastered by phantom hands, onto the head-standing Blackbird. She overheard a series of snaps: the cables and wires from the communication poles and towers were clipped, swinging limply in the air with resounding metallic wobbles and twangs.

Her mind stalled as it attempted to figure out how that was logically possible, but stopped after remind herself that this was the Devil, after all, and his violent craft could not always be explained.

Speaking of cursed craft, where was her weapon? It dawned on her that her object of comfort was missing.

"I vant my musket back, Devil."

"What is the magic word?" He sneered.

Rip didn't answer, instead returning him a dangerous look. "Zat vas an order."

"Incorrect."

Incensed, she lunged to clobber him. In an instant his towering frame pinned her against the guard rail and gripped her throat with a single large hand. She wriggled in defiance, jaws snapping as she tried to bite his wrist, her teeth becoming plumper and sharper in her angered state.

"Temper temper," Alucard snickered; his shadows flooded beneath him in excitement. "Shouldn't little girls do as they're told?"

"Vhy did you capture me, and turn me into vone of your familiars?" Rip demanded. The shadows began to curl around her, envelope her like a shadowy robe. Disgusted by their touches, she began to thrash more wildly. In response, he began to bend her over the rail, the metal bar dug into her back. She glanced at the dark waters of the ocean below splashed and frothed, salty spray here and there against the bow. If he tossed her overboard, she was done for.

"Because," he continued, without missing a beat, "of your loyalty, persistence, and amazing skill with firearms was very appealing to me. Not to mention having a relic that is blessed with pagan magic."

She stilled, surprised. "Vho told you about-"

"No one; I already knew," He pulled her back, and tucked a few fly-aways back with his free hand. The moment she felt his cold, awful touch against her temple, a memory revived:

_She was pinned between her former Master, looming over her, and a massive rotting log - about to be punished for insubordination, all for the wasted attempt to rescue a girl who looked so much like..._

_A roar, an argument, a whiff of strong musk and a white blur. A screech, followed by a flying jawbone, teeth and flesh still attached._

_Her old home, her old farm. A being - a Perchta - with a crown of rams' horns, covered in fur from head to hoofed toe, such long legs. Angry goat-like face, frighteningly huge mouth, but wise brimstone eyes. A chant of a tongue long forgotten; her father's musket, wrapped in glowing sky-blue glyphs, being presented to her...  
_

Rip heaved, in attempt to recover from the memory dive, a hand clutching her frozen heart, now realizing she was free from his grip. "How did you know, no one... I didn't..."

"When an awakened vampire drinks their victims' blood, they gain their memories as well. Blood is the currency of life; with that comes their experiences, struggles and trials. Their victories and triumphs."

She gave him a perplexed look, trying to register this information for the very first time.

"Were you not aware of this?" Alucard inquired.

"No, I vas never told vampires could read memories."

"Not even Zorin knew?"

Rip opened her mouth to speak but quickly shut it. "How much do you know?" She snarled.

"Just enough so, to make sure hijacking this ship was not in vain."

She crossed her arms tighter, felt violated in every sense of the word, knowing he saw everything that occurred in her life, up until four hours ago. "Do I make a vorthy prisoner?" She retorted bitterly.

"A prisoner?" His brows furrowed.

"Am I not your hostage?"

Deep bells of chuckling rung from him. "You are neither. You are a prize stolen from the Major."

Rip perked up at the mention of her superior. "Vat...?"

"He is the enemy in this time of war," Alucard exclaimed, "and wouldn't it be sweeter to pocket one of his top soldiers? Why waste a talented, diligent soldier, like yourself, when I could have them fight?"

"Vat are you implyingk?"

"Not implying, _proposing_. I offer you a position to fight by my side when we arrive in London and do battle against the Major's forces."

Pure venom etched her features. "I vould ratzer die un dog's death zhan fight for a monster like you." Rip snarled, heatedly.

He predicted that, given her loyalty to that madman. "You have two options: fight for my side, willingly, or -"

"Death?" She interrupted, slightly hopeful. There was nothing else to strive for at this point, now that she was eternally bound to him.

"No. Death is too easy for you. - you pine for it. Instead, I will wipe your memory clean and be a mindless drone for the rest of your days." He reached within the shadows that swathed Rip, and drew out her musket. His darkness returned to him as he withdrew from her.

"I will let you think it over. You have one hour." He tossed her firearm to her as he. She caught it with ease.

He returned to the scene of the crashed, still-standing Blackbird, craning his head to watch its ceaseless reconstruction. He knew from the start she would lambaste his offer fiercely, but he knew giving her time would rule in his favor. If she still refused, well then. He might have to draw out his trump card: spilling some closed-door secrets from another recently-captured Millennium member couldn't hurt.

Alucard caught movement flickering in the corner of his eye. There went the Huntress, darting from ship roof to ship compartment at an inhuman speed, with cat-like grace, until she reached the wrecked satellite tower and was out of view.

While sharing secrets couldn't hurt, the truth might for her.

* * *

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quick flashbacks occur during the late 1700's, a few years before the French Revolution (1789-1799), if that gives everyone a better idea of the time period. I say late 1700's since Rip's flintlock musket, from what I've read from a few Hellsing-blog discussions (that have mysteriously disappeared since this chapter's original posting in 2009), were in use between 1600's to the mid 1800's, and with my habit of wanting to stay true to history, I decided to integrate that into the story.
> 
> Comments, critiques and suggestions are welcomed.


	3. Shake Hands with the Devil

**ACT III: Shake Hands with the Devil**

"You could smell it. / So you left me on my own,  
To complete the mission. / Now I'm leaving it all behind.  
I'm going hunting /  _I'm_ the Hunter."

\- Björk,  _Hunter_

* * *

Reading the moon's arc in the sky, it was almost four in the morning.

Rip sat in the middle of the helipad, back hunched and legs folded in a lotus position, her musket set next to her. The bloodied Nazi insignia she had painted was worn and charred, its barest angles legible.

Speculation on how her Millennium comrades, superiors and associates would react once they discovered she was now within the enemy's hands predominated Rip's conscience. Millennium was everything: she had carved out her home, her niche, her rank, pouring all her effort and 'life' into this twisted coalition. They took her in without hesitation when she had no future and lost herself to the heart of the forest. It was her second family.

She had nothing else.

* * *

The monotonous rocking of the ship and crashing of the waves was lost to him. Attempts to read the Huntress's mind were fruitless, her barriers were up: a stream of worry and white noise, he was unable to dissect her thoughts.

Alucard glanced at the moon's position. Her time of deliberation was up.

So it boiled down to this, much like the fable of Faust. If he had to play the Devil's part, then so be it.

* * *

She picked up his unusually quiet footsteps behind her. She tensed up. He was the type to make his entrance obvious.

"Vat is it."

"Your hour is up. Have you made your decision?"

Rip did not turn around, still staring up at the moon.

"I need your answer, Huntress."

Several long moments of silence stretched.

"If you don't respond, I will decide for –"

"Isn't it obvious?" Her tone darkened, her voice a snarl.

"So you agree to becoming a drone?"

"DON'T," In a whirl of movement, Rip was up on her feet and inches before Alucard, "you  _dare_  put your vords down my zhroat."

He smirked. "But you were not answering."

"I do not haff to answer to  _anyone._ "

"Even if you are my prisoner? If your fate hung on that very response?" He drawled.

Her scowling, livid gaze did not waver. Alucard paused, calculating a different approach.

"Are you aware of  _why_  Millennium selected you for a position in the Werewolf Forces?"

"Vhy is zhat even a question?" She snorted, haughtily, crossing her arms. "My talent und marksmanship, of course. You said it yourself before: I am a 'prized' soldier, ja?"

"Was it? Or were you chosen for your loyalty?"

"Zhat might haff come under consideration, yes, but zhat cannot be zhe sole reason."

"… How certain are you?"

"Vhy question?" She sneered. "Vere you zhere during zhe council's deliberations to say otzervise ?"

"Let's say a familiar I had 'acquired' several weeks ago happened to overhear it," He hinted. "And their final verdict was not based on selfless intentions."

Rip furrowed her brows, puzzled. "Elaborate."

He sighed. "It might be best to show you, rather than explain," he offered. Rip hesitated, seeing him beckon her over, recalling his unpleasant touch during the last memory dive.

Her conscience pressed her: there may be a kernel of truth somewhere in his relentless wordplay and baiting.

Relenting, she warily approached. Rip shut her eyes as his long fingers reached for her temples. Everything coiled tight, trying not to flinch at his touch as the sensation of being pulled in, akin to being tugged by the powerful ebb of the ocean tide.

* * *

_"Exactly how big is this joint?"_

_"It has four floors, not includingk zhe additional heliport und two basements."_

_A long whistle. "They must have shitloads of cash to burn."_

_The vast control room of the Letze Battallion mother ship zeppelin, adorned with dozens of massive screens, bathed the men in an electronic yellow glow. The Valentine Brothers stood idly before the Major's throne._

_Viewing the scene through Luke's eyes, he adjusted his glasses. "In the event that we cannot kill her-"_

_"It is eizher you kill Hellsing, or you die tryingk. Millennium never accepts failure."_

_"And if we do succeed and in one piece?"_

_"You vill be rewarded, generously."_

_"Heeeey," Jan interjected, "if we pull this off, does this mean I can nab a better position?"_

_"Of course! I vould be more zhan happy to elevate you from private to sergeant..."_

_Doors slid open from behind, momentarily distracting the Major, looking above and over the Brothers._

_"Ah, Obersturmf_ _ü_ _hrer! Come in!"_

_The viewer turned: a tall, slender woman dressed in a sable military uniform, casually cradling an antique musket strode in._

_"How goes the trainingk of ze new recruits?"_

_"Estrangig, I vould say eighty percent of zhem can shoot a bullseye from sixty meters on zheir first attempt."_

_"Ah ha, marvelous. Vhat about zhe remainder, can zhey not shoot?"_

_"Nein, zhey can. Zhey just needed more_ _…_ encouragement. _"_

_The plump man cackled._

_"Zhe recruits are becomingk ravenous und uncooperative. May I be granted permission to take zhem off grounds to hunt?"_

_"Of course. Do vhat you may. Just make sure to clean up after zhemselves. Leave no evidence behind."_

_Rip snapped and straightened, giving an enthusiastic salut. "Danke, Herr Major!"_

_He saluted her in return as she turned and headed toward the exit._

_"Now," the Major turned back to the viewer. "Vhere vere ve, gentlemen?_ _"_

_Jan made a strange, perplexed face._   _"Who_ was _that chick? Was she even a chic-"_

_His was given a swift answer - a heel mashing down on his foot with a crunch._

_"You will have to excuse my brother," Luke apologized as his sibling spewed a string of curses at him, "He more often speaks before he thinks."_

_"Our first lieutenant? Of course she is a voman. She is vone of our finest sharpshooters."_

_"Will we be working alongside her?"_

_"N_ _ein, you are on completely different missions."_

_"What the hell is she gonna be doing?" Jan shoe-horned._

" _If you do not kill Hellsing, she vill lure zhe guard dog out._ _"_

_Both gave_ _a_ _look of incredulity._

_The Major caught the accidental slip of the tongue._ _"_ _Oh ho, I mustn't say anymore! Vouldn't vant to to ruin zhe surprise."_

_Luke cleared his throat. It was not hard to read in between the lines._   _"_ _While it is none of our business, why would you send your best man, or woman, I should say, out on a suicide mission?_ _"_

~ Luke, the hell? ~

~ Shh. ~

_"Everyvone has a role to fulfill. Sometimes sacrifices must be made to archive our goal."_

_"Everyone?"_

_"Of course. How else vould zhe vorld be able to function?"_

_"So you could care less over the fact she seems to be head over fuckin_ _'_ _heels towards you_ _?_ _"_ _Jan blurted._

" _It makes it easier for her to be deployed und get zhe mission accomplished. Less questioningk und bickeringk, I say."_

~ Shiii-yet. He's coming off as a little too batty for my liking. ~

~ If he's so willing to throw her away, then we're probably seen as fodder. We're not going to fare any better. ~

~ Yeah but we're  _artificials_. I say we get this job done and off this fucker when we come back to nab our 'reward.' ~

~ That's stretching it. ~

~ Not unless we're able to convince others. ~

~ …If we do kill Hellsing and her "dog," then it may not be out of the realm of possibility. ~

_Luke 'tsk'ed. "Hm. Guess that can't be changed. Moving on - about Hellsing, where's the weakest point of their mansion_ _defense?"_

_The Major reached for his conso_ _l_ _e at the arm of his chair as the screen behind him flickered to a blueprint of the mansion architecture and grounds. Whipping out a collapsable pointer, he began to speak but no words came._

* * *

Returning to the present in an instant, Rip shoved Alucard away, trying to register what all she witnessed as an ugly pit formed in her stomach.

"I… Zhis isn't possible… how could he…" She shot him a look of disbelief and confusion. "You concocted zhis scheiße!"

"I did not."

"You  _did_ , to manipulate me into agreeing to your terms!"

"Not manipulate -  _persuade._ " He corrected. "However, if you believe what I had just revealed to you  _was_  a lie, then I assume you already knew about the Major's endgame?"

"To eliminate zhe number one zhreat to our organization."

"But did he not tell you anything else beyond that goal?"

Her anger drifted momentarily.  _Beyond?_

"Suppose Hellsing was defeated. What would Millennium do for the rest of its days?"

She had fumbled with the thought of settling down somewhere on the Brazilian countryside in the past. It was not Bavaria, but it would do. But they were only fanciful daydreams.

"Did you believe he would have offered a life outside the organization?" He further pressed.

"Ze Major had said ve vould haff zhat option."

"That was small talk. Appeasement."

"But-"

"You know it was. He never produced any proof, did he?"

"…He  _promised_." She remembered the meetings, the rallies:  _train for the battle, relish the victory, the glory, and the future was **their's**  for the taking.  
_

"Your battalion had done nothing but practice and prepare to attack my Master and lay siege to London. There was never a moment to pause and consider peacetime. The Major is just a madman sowing seeds of chaos. This entire scheme is but a long-winding game to him."

Cold dread coursed through her veins.

"You were nothing more than a pawn-"

The muzzle of the flintlock musket whipped into view and stared up at him, a hairbreadth away from Alucard's face. His brows rose, but he was not phased the slightest.

~  _I know you're aware you are out of bullets and the chamber is empty._  ~

" _I am not a pawn_." Rip growled, her anger flaring up once more. Her blue eyes were eyes were wide, wild, focused.

"Huntress, denial is not going to get you anywhere."

Her throat tightened. "I am  _novone's_  toy!"

"Get your head out of the sand."

" _Halt den mund!_  He vould never-" Her voice inadvertently rose a few octaves.

"You're  _delusional."_  Alucard snapped, reaching the end of his patience. "You were no different from the rest - everyone,  _including you_ , were his toys. If anything, you were seen as an easier case to assign the mission to because of your blind adoration for him."

His words were a jagged knife being plunged into her still heart.

Rip jabbed her musket into his face. She felt it halt and not connect with his forehead: she knew he was faster, bracing himself by grasping the barrel and parrying it. During the milliseconds he was distracted, she ducked down then lunged, slamming his side. She may have been overcome by a maelstrom of emotions, at least she was still able to think fast on her feet.

* * *

He expected her not to take the news lightly, or openly acknowledge she had been deceived and used as a proxy. He was prepared for her to do something rash, or at least bluff.

This little stunt took him by surprise.

Having the wind effectively knocked out of him, the two vampires sailed several feet across the helipad deck. The musket clattered in the distance. Both landed, skidding and rolling.

Facedown, Alucard shook his head as he attempted to prop himself up. There were scrambling footsteps to his left and he was slammed once more, his head hitting the metal floor with a crack as Rip pinned him onto his back, straddling him. She wasted no time socking him, letting loose a banshee-like screech with every blow she delivered. Blue eyes wild, her face was contorted in rage, her normally swept-back hair was a mess. Her glasses must have fallen off during her surprise attack.

Slightly annoyed, Alucard considered ending this temper tantrum by grabbing her by the neck and tossing her aside. But that would bring them back to square one of their bickering match. They were not getting any closer to a compromise than when he 'released' her and tended to her wounds.

Just this once, he'd allow himself to be her therapeutic punching bag. He laid there, passive, as pain shot up within his sinuses as she began to bash his nose in.

The angry, ghoulish screams and howls that tore from her were far louder their minds.

* * *

_~ DON'T YOU DARE PATRONIZE ME, YOU ARE NO DIFFERENT FROM HIM. ~_

The gloves were soaked with red once more with every punch. Her breathing was haggard.

With is nose now caved in, blood gushing freely, she grabbed a fistful of his short hair and slammed his head back several times into the steel floor. In the moonlight, ugly purple and black bruises had could be seen blooming across his face.

~  _BOTH OF YOU ARE MANIPULATIVE MONSTERS- ~_

Tears blurred her vision as she opened his toothy mouth, and twisted his jaws in opposite directions with a sickening pop. A few fangs managed to become dislodged.

~ -  _VHO VOULD THROW ANYVONE TO THE VOLVES FOR ZHEIR OWN PERSONAL GAIN._ ~

Her strength began to falter, and Rip leaned back, panting heavily, to see the damage. His broken, blood-splattered and mangled face was a gruesome piece of work. His undamaged scarlet eyes stared back at her.

~  _Both of you could care fuckingk less about anyvone else but yourselves._  ~ Rip's voice cracked.

"Untrue." Alucard gurgled a barely intelligible reply.

Bristling and desperate to silence him, she shoved her thumbs against the corners of his eyes, ready to burst them out of their sockets.

~  _If I was like the Major, would I have given you the option to choose me?_ ~

~  _SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP-_  ~

~  _Would have I— ~_

With the remaining strength she had, she pressed down.

~  _— gone out of my way to show you the truth?_ ~

She stopped. Time crawled before she took her hands away. Then, slumping forward, Rip balled up, heaved, and the dams broke.

* * *

Alucard watched with cool curiosity as she openly wept over him, slamming her fist down inches from his head with a metallic thud. He debated whether reaching out to touch her arm or shoulder in an attempt to soothe her would exacerbate the situation.

Fortunately it was decided for him when Rip rolled off to his right into a heap. Her bitter anguish was palpable. For several minutes, both said nothing, with the exception of Rip's wracking sobs. He focused on the stars, looking for any recognizable constellations. Clouds were beginning to drift in, veiling the full moon.

Pain returned to his sinuses. His nose started the process of rearranging the cartilage and bone, mending itself. There was a soreness where his missing teeth were, hints of new fangs about to erupt through the gums.

Pushing himself up, Alucard got back onto his feet, and phased a hand into shadow, wiping the blood off his face and neck. He turned his attention back to the sharpshooter: she was on her side, lying almost in fetal-position, and the crying had quieted.

He slipped his red duster off and flicked it, placing it atop of her shuddering form before he departed.

* * *

Peeling off her blood-stained gloves, Rip inspected the damage done to her hands. It had looked like she did a number to them, scabs and bruises painting her knuckles. There was no pain when she flexed her fingers.

Drained from her outburst and the psychological exhaustion brought on by the events and revelations over the past several hours, she felt detached from the here, the now.

Was this the Major's ulterior motive all along, to use her for whatever plans he had in mind? Or was it spur of the moment?

She could think of at least a half a dozen instances she saved his hide from infiltrations or assassination attempts by disgruntled soldiers. Were his "thank you's" just part of his script?

She had to wonder exactly how many of her comrades knew she was labeled as a slab of meat destined for the Monster.

 _Did Zorin know?_ She felt a cold sting at the very thought. Was their loyalty to that madman worth more than her camaraderie? Some comrades they were. But, she would have done the same if she was in their position: she remembered looking on with glee as the horde of artificial fledglings descended upon the remaining Nazi elders of the Millennium council. Casually butchering them was no skin off their noses.

Maybe she had looked much too deeply into Major's plans: his reasoning to deliver vengeance upon Hellsing and his promises of a future were, as the Devil said, just a cover. Maybe all the Major wanted was war. But why? All he spoke of was victory and bloodshed, nothing about religious or philosophical supremacy. What else could he want?

At this point, her train of thought generated more questions than answers. Rip wrapped the duster tighter around her as she glanced at the moon, its form hazy and light dimmed by the cloud bank. They had to be arriving on the English coast soon.

With the destination soon approaching, Rip mused on how her earlier thoughts on how the members of Millennium react to seeing her as Hellsing's prisoner.

She slowly stood up, keeping the duster around her like a blanket. Tucking her soiled gloves into her own jacket pocket, she surveyed the helipad deck: the elder vampire was nowhere to be seen, and figured he was on the other side of the ship. Spotting her abandoned musket, where it had been dropped during their altercation, she went over to retrieve it.

Her former associates would most likely brand her a traitor, then kill her. The concept of keeping prisoners was a foreign one to Millennium, and had no interest in exercising it. Either you died honorably in the heat of battle or find a way to take your own life if captured by the enemy. Obviously, neither happened to her. Now she had to wonder if the Major ever praised her death as a gallant one for completing her 'mission…'

Picking up her firearm, Rip briefly examined the end of the barrel, searching for any bents or dents, before she made her way over and down the stairwell, into the corridors and bowels of the ship. The electricity was still out. The lack of light was not an issue, however, considering her night vision.

Weighing her options once more, if she accepted the Devil's offer to fight for Hellsing, then (by all things considered) she would just be _another_  pawn, being used by a different organization.

But if she conceded… maybe,  _just maybe_ , she could get answers.

While crossing over to 'the other side' was no longer an anxiety-inducing thought, her future now a new source of it - for it now cloudy, uncertain. Whether the Hellsing guard dog would still keep her following this battle in London had yet to be seen, given how little was known about his habits and behavior, aside from what rumors provided.

Or, maybe it was not his decision to make. The master holding his leash could very well have the final say on her fate.

Another stairwell lay ahead, alit by the dim moonlight.

Unless he had nothing better to do during this voyage, why would the Devil really spend all his time and effort to convince her to join, only consider her expendable? And went so far out of his way to provide her proof that the Major backstabbed her.

Unless that was what he needed to gain her trust, he must see her more worthy than just another soldier. Climbing the stairs, the hopeful speculation warmed her a little.

* * *

Reaching the last step, Rip felt some fulfillment with the new environment before her, instead of being met by the same vast oceanic frontier. A long string of small lights and halos belonging to village lampposts and buildings, flanking either side of the horizon, dotting the English coastline. What had to have been several leagues beyond was a thick tower of smoke and a red glow: the siege of London was in full swing.

Alucard at the near end of the deck's nose, arms crossed, studying the landscape before him.

~  _How nice of you to join me_. ~ He greeted as she wandered over, stopping a few feet behind him.

"How close are ve to landfall?"

"On the left is Sheerness and Isle of Grain. To the right, Southend-on-Sea. Ahead, of course, is the Thames. We have to travel another forty minutes before we reach London."

"Hm." Her thoughts more preoccupied with the half-dreamy scene. Were any of these denizens aware their capital was under attack? Most likely not.

Alucard turned to her, this time donning a white long-sleeved and red ascot tie. His face had completely healed, as if she never laid a finger on him. "Better?"

_At least I don't feel disgusted being in your presence._

"Better zhan previously, I guess. Oh," Rip wriggled out of the large duster and cautiously presented it to him. "You can haff your coat back."

As he took and slipped back into it, he fished an object out of his own pants pocket. "I believe you dropped this earlier." He traded; it was her glasses.

"Danke," she quickly opened and placed them back on

Alucard's eyes narrowed, noting the bruises and scabs on her glove-less hands. "You know how to throw a mean punch."

"Consider zhat as gettingk even." She replied, snidely.

"Even, it is." He said, bested. "I would like to check on your wound one more time."

Rip couldn't hold back an exasperated sigh as he came closer to unbutton the top half of her coat and Oxford shirt, before prying the bandages and peered over her shoulder. After a few moments, he gave an approving nod.

"It's healed. I reckoned you had fully recovered when you hurled me halfway across the deck. Now," Alucard took a step back to give her more breathing room, "you answer."

She gathered her thoughts. "If ve survive zhis, vhat else is zhere for me?"

Alucard cocked his head, inquisitive. "Explain."

"I haff served as a soldier for Millennium ever since zhe Major brought me in. I've never known any otdzer life." Her eyes met his, glinting with a fierce determination. "Vat does Hellsing haff in store for me? Vat makes it more vorthy to serve?"

"Aside from earning your keep by serving as the local Midian clean-up crew, you have freedom. When you are not on an assigned a mission, you are allowed to go wherever you want. And hunt; although, who your intended prey is up for Master to approve."

"Granted vith only so much freedom before your Master yanks zhe leash." She chided.

"It is not so much power-tripping than it is Integra's method to prevent unwanted attention. Our organization, in all technicality, does not exist." He sensed the change in her demeanor. "You are… unsatisfied?"

"Zhese perks are appealingk. Daily 'life' is structured, vhich I prefer."

"And you still want payback—"

"Of course I vant zhat!" Rip gestured wildly, "I vant nothingk more zhan to tear zhat bastard's zhroat out." Her shoulders, and figure, slumped as she planted her musket on the ground and leaned against it, much like an oversized walking stick. "I vas once a cogwheel for zhe Major's plans, and clearly I vas not an important one, even zhough I prepared for two vars and dutifully trained my own brigade. Now, I haff notzingk to strive for." She looked on at the passing town lights as the Demeter entered the mouth of the Thames.

She struggled to find words, struggled to articulate what was missing. "I feel so…"

"Incomplete?"

Rip perked her head up.

"I believe the core of your dilemma is the lack of change. Growth can be considered as a branch of that."

Her brows knitted. What the hell was he getting at?

"As I have said prior, you are a remarkable sharpshooter, and one that should not be trifled with. However, I feel you are not as powerful as you could be.  _I_  can help you with that…"

He had her full attention.

"… if, you were to join."

She grunted, annoyance flickering. He was just  _dangling_  the carrot now, wasn't he.

"Aside from beingk taught how to read memories und become more powerful, vhat else is zhere to gain under your tutelage?"

"Abilities that would make your adversaries envious," Alucard teased with a toothy smile. "A few years under my wing, and I can easily envision you as a _fine_  Draculina."

"You're pushingk it vith your silver tongue."

"That was not a gimmick."

Rip felt her cheeks flush. She never could handle compliments without becoming slightly flustered. Yet it was refreshing to hear someone say they saw promise in her. "I... how long vill it take for me to learn zhese abilities?"

"Since you are not my offspring, per se, it may take longer to obtain those abilities, compared to those who were turned by me. However, I've never taught a familiar before, so I cannot predict if being connected to me, in a metaphysical sense, will accelerate the process… This will be an interesting experiment for the both of us."

A roof over her head and a possible tutor… it sounded too good.

"Last question."

"Fire away.

"Vhy did you show me zhat memory, aside from it being your obvious method of persuasion?" Her eyes met his, dead-on.

"Because it was the truth." His voice was even, surprisingly placid.

"Vhy show me?"

"Because after all you had been put through, you deserved it."

Her mind clung to those words. There was no way his comment was a product of wishful thinking. The old adage, "truth will set you free," was brought to mind. It was then and there the pieces of the puzzle fit together: it was his _gift_  to her. Another gift - the freedom to forge her own identity, free from being molded by another's deranged agenda, free to become a more powerful hunter - was waiting.

"After much deliberation," Rip straightened her pose, her eyes meeting his, glinting with confidence. "I accept your proposition."

He closed the space between them, extending a hand. "A wise choice," he commended. "You will make an _exceptional_  addition to the crew."

She took and shook it without hesitation. He patted her shoulder, guiding her to follow him as they strode towards the broken Blackbird, now a strange, towering hodgepodge cross, covered in a blanket of steel wires, jutting iron bars and jammed sheets of metal. A few tattered banners - most likely made from ghouls' clothing - waved in the wind on the communications tower.

Both stopped to study it. "Zhis is zhat you've been buildingk zhe entire time?" Rip inquired.

He glanced her way. "Yes. Snug within the wreckage is my coffin. It was the sole reason I was able to fly here."

She felt a weight bear down on her: mental exhaustion was taking its toll.

Alucard heard her tired exhale. "It has been a long night."

"Quite un understatement," Rip muttered, taking her glasses off briefly to rub her face and crack her neck. She heard him chuckle.

His shadows were released, spilling out and around her like a living cape. He motioned her to come closer. "You need your rest before we make landfall."

With a gentle hand on her back, she allowed him to draw her in, her firearm in hand. It was ironic: before, she flinched at his touch and loathed being in close proximity to him. Now she felt strangely safe, and leaned into his tall figure, comfortable knowing she was taken under his wing and had an accomplice to help her exact vengeance.

The inky swath of tendrils swirled and wrapped quickly around them. Darkness welcomley embraced her.

* * *

The Demeter trudged at full speed, the Port of London was within sight. A mass of white-clad Iscariots flowed within the streets, fending off the waves of Millennium's artificials. Both battalions were bathed in the orange and red glow of the still burning city.

He sorely missed the roar of war, the thrill of combat. Alucard dipped into his subconscious.

~  _We've arrived, Huntress._  ~

A unique eagerness coursed through his veins that was not his -  _hers_. Behind him, his coffin rumbled. As he broke into a sprint across the ship deck, he heard a hum within. It grew louder, more feminine. The moment he launched himself, her gleeful cackle echoed in his mind, as he dove into the forest of javelins and rifles.

* * *

**FINIS**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Halt den mund" = shut your mouth.
> 
> The chapter's title borrowed from a memoir of the same name.
> 
> If you're musically inclined like I am, I suggest putting on Waltz With Bashir OST by Max Richter on if you ever decide to re-read this fic, specifically tracks "The Haunted Ocean 1," "The Haunted Ocean 5" and "What Have They Done?" "Prophecies" by Philip Glass (Koyaanisqatsi OST) works very well too.


End file.
